


Because I Prayed This Word

by ClassicallyInclined



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everything is Fine here, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:04:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicallyInclined/pseuds/ClassicallyInclined
Summary: Judy is fairly certain that Camilla is either flirting with her or threatening her life. But who knows—it’s all Greek to her.Now available in Russian thanks to the excellent helgship:https://ficbook.net/readfic/9647173/24800910





	Because I Prayed This Word

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been translated into Russian by the magnificent helgship:<https://ficbook.net/readfic/9647173/24800910>  


I.

Judy is high the first time it happens. She’s spread out on the shitty corduroy couch in the common room and staring up at the ceiling, totally coked out and feeling wonderful. Everything is soft: the lights, the breeze that dances over her shoulders and down her arms, her cotton tank top. She feels more alive than she has all day, totally present in the moment, at ease with herself. It’s like Nirvana or something.

Of course, it’s right then, when Judy is appreciating how alive she is, that Camilla Macaulay marches across the room towards Judy with a scarily determined look on her face. Her lips are set in a prim, little smirk and her eyes are glinting in a way that makes Judy feel a bit dizzy. Judy leans backwards into the velvety padding of the couch and hopes that whatever Camilla does she’ll be quick about it.

Camilla seems to examine her, eyes shooting down towards Judy’s ancient Converse and then back up over her bleached jeans, her thin tank top, her face. Camilla’s smirk widens, and Judy thinks that this is it. In a second Camilla is going to hit her with a biting comment or maybe pull a knife out by magic from the gauzy layers of her dress. It looks like it might have pockets. 

Instead, Camilla meets Judy’s eyes with her quicksilver gaze, tilts her head forward just a bit, and then says in a tone that’s both reverent and promising “Ἔρος δηὖτέ μ' ὀ λυσιμέλης δόνει, γλυκύπικρον ἀμάχανον ὄρπετον.”

“Fuck.” Judy says. And she means it. What is she supposed to make of that? How is she supposed to respond to Camilla’s voice dropping off low and throaty? Camilla probably wants to kill her. She might have just told her how she’d do it. She knew she should have apologized for the unfortunate beer to face incident at that party last term. Maybe even bought her flowers, Camilla seems like she would have appreciated that.

Camilla nods knowingly.

“Fuck.” Judy says again.

II.

About a week or so later, Judy is walking back from one of the performances she’s required to attend. Judy is exhausted. It’s late, and tomorrow she has to continue training the more promising sophomores that have remained in her department. 

It’s peaceful and dim; the outlines of the birch trees are ghostly figures but familiar. Judy is counting off all of the projects she still has to begin: considering what sort of costumes she might make for the next performance, the fabrics she’ll select, the different patterns, colors, embellishments, all of the little details, all of the elements that let her make art and display it on a stage for people to envy and appreciate. 

Camilla steps out from behind a tree. 

Judy screeches and trips, arms flailing. Camilla seizes her by the wrists and holds her steady. 

“I’m sorry, “ Camilla says. She sounds positively gleeful.

“God, Camilla!” Judy starts, lurching away from Camilla, “Why did you do that? Why are you out here?” 

“I was taking a walk.”

“It’s the middle of the night.” 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Judy crosses her arms across her chest. Camilla just smiles her irritating half smile. 

“Seriously, Camilla?”

“Well, actually,” Camilla says, leaning forward, conspiratorial, “if you must know, I was having a hard time focusing. I was going mad, couldn’t think straight. I thought a walk might help. But it hasn’t so far.” Then as if an afterthought, Camilla says very seriously: “ὄπταις ἄμμε.”

“Sorry, I guess.” 

“Don’t be.” Camilla says. “You know, you could come with me. It’s a beautiful night.” 

Judy considers it. What a concept: her, alone with Camilla in the middle of the night; the moon glinting down with the same sort of silvery sheen that Camilla’s eyes seem to get when she’s amused; some trees, probably. Camilla smiling fondly at her and then ripping out her heart.

Judy shuts her eyes hard. Opens them. Camilla is still there, looking at her almost hopeful. 

“Bye,” she mumbles and darts like an arrow towards her dorm. All of those windsprints are really paying off.

“Judy,” Camilla calls out, sounding almost hurt, “What are you doing?”

Yeah, Judy thinks, what the fuck am I doing?

III.

Judy likes to pride herself on her independence. She’s a properly modern woman. But things have gotten out of hand. Running away from her problems? Check. Acting like an utter coward? Check. Hurting Camilla’s feelings? Very likely. She’s a terrible person.

Luckily, she knows lots of other terrible people, terrible people who owe her favors: specifically, her favourite little classics geek, the hapless Richard. That’s why she is standing outside of his room waiting for him to emerge from his lair of antique wisdom to give her his best, likely sleep-deprived advice. 

Right on schedule he sluggishly pries open the door blinking slowly at Judy like she’s something out of a nightmare. And alright, she deserves that right now. 

“Richard,” She says.

“Judy.” He replies cautiously.

“Richard, you’re friends with Camilla, right?”

“What’s happened?” He says straightening up rather suddenly.

“Nothing.” Judy says. “Everything is fine. I just had a question.”

His eyes get all squinty. “Well?”

“Camilla’s been following me around. Saying all these weird things.”

He looks really irritated at her. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. It kind of sounds like music.”

“Greek.”

Judy shrugs. Music. Greek. Honestly what’s the difference? Both are beautiful. She shakes her head, and catches his bleary eyes with her own. “Richard, I need to know what it means.”

“Do you have it written down?”

“No.”

“Then, I don’t know, Judy.” 

“Why is she doing it?”

Richard sneers at her with all of his wimpy might. He looks like he might fall down. He probably thinks he’s really, very intimidating.

Humoring him, Judy lets her face crumple just a bit.

“Sorry,” He says quietly. “Look, Judy. Camilla does whatever she wants whenever she can. You should just ask her.”

Judy smiles. “Thanks, dude. You’re the best nerd I know.” Then she hands him a Valium and twists off. 

IV.

Judy keeps an eye out for Camilla the entire day, peering sceptically around bushes and garbage cans expectantly. She even wanders into the woods for a few minutes just to check that she hadn’t turned into a flower or a tree or something. That’s the most she knows about the classics. (Well, that and a bit about Artemis and Arachne.) But Camilla isn’t popping out of empty stumps so she calls it a bust.

She might have really screwed up. But she kind of doubts it. And even if she did, Camilla has always seemed kind of ruthless, maybe she’ll come back for revenge. 

V.

Dejected, disappointed, and definitely not in a good mood, Judy perks up a tiny bit when one of the little sophomores she’s been mentoring knocks at her door and dutifully informs her of the impromptu party being held. This at least will give her the opportunity to properly think about things. Well, that and drink a bit, too. But the thinking first, or, then again, maybe after. She gets some of her best ideas when she’s sobering up, still a bit giddy from the alcohol.

She springs up, and heads out to the lawn, taking with her some of the fruity bottles of vodka she’s been saving.

It’s just on the edge of dusk, and the sun is setting in streaks of violet and magenta. It’s noisy, crowded with people. Everyone is chatting and laughing and singing and somewhere a boombox is playing some rumbly voiced singer. There is a flash of white just on the edge of Judy’s vision, and she jerks towards it, disappointed to see it’s only the sleeve of Jud’s varsity jacket. 

She goes back to her drink sitting on the top of a picnic table, watching Hampden revel in only the way that Hampden can. Poor, Camilla, she thinks. She’s probably locked away in a turret reciting poetry or something.

But that ends pretty quickly. Somewhere in all of the blended, achingly loud noise Judy thinks she hears Camilla’s voice, and Judy sits up a bit straighter, only slightly wobbly. She wanders off to see if Camilla is actually here or if Judy is just imagining her. 

It’s hard to follow the rustling of a voice. Especially here, especially now. With remarkable composure, she walks through a minefield of dark amber bottles scattered on the ground, the uneven lumps of soil and molehills that are everywhere on the lawn, and bodies that move unexpectedly sometimes standing motionless and sometimes lunging in front of her. And Camilla’s voice is really barely a breathy whisper. Just the hint of a sound. She’s basically navigating this whole place by gut instinct.

It works though. Or at least she thinks it does because there is a flash of pale blonde hair and a silky sort of laughter that makes Judy suspect she’s found her.

“Camilla, is that you?”

“Judy!” Camilla is calling in a tone so pleased, so eager that it seems that everything is the same as it was. “Over here. Look, Richard, look, Judy is here.” 

Richard is sitting on a rock in his dorky little tweed suit. Camilla is waving next to him wearing an oversized, wooly sweater. 

“Judy, come drink with us.” Camilla’s cheeks are slightly pink.

Judy nodded. This she could do. “It looks like you’ve already started without me.”

Camilla stoically nods. “Yes. But Richard is such a lightweight. He’s already queasy.”

Richard, who was rubbing his face on his hands and looking rather green, glared at this.

“Camilla,” Judy says. “I need to ask you something.”

She blinks. “Alright, go ahead.”

“You’re not planning to kill me, right?”

Camilla raises her eyebrows. Then calmly, “Would you like me to try?”

Richard groans, and Judy glances as he stumbles from his perch. “Really, Camilla? You had to do this now? I swear—”

Camilla leans in towards Judy in a swift, decisive motion. And Judy’s eyes snap back to the moon-silver of Camilla’s own. “Ἔρος δηὖτέ μ' ὀ λυσιμέλης δόνει, γλυκύπικρον ἀμάχανον ὄρπετον.”

“What does—” Judy’s breath hitches. Camilla is looking at her with something that is certainly not anger. Her delicate hand slips up over Judy’s cheek, elegant fingers loping around her ear. 

“It means,” Camilla begins, her voice changing to some sort of feathery thing, her breath warm and pulsing closer, “that I like you a lot, Judy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Greek Translations:  
Fragment 130: Ἔρος δηὖτέ μ' ὀ λυσιμέλης δόνει, γλυκύπικρον ἀμάχανον ὄρπετον—  
Eros the melter of limbs (now again) stirs me-  
sweetbitter unmanageable creature who steals in
> 
> Fragment 38: ὄπταις ἄμμε—  
You burn me
> 
> These are fragments of Sappho. The translated versions which I refer to come from Anne Carson's: If Not, Winter. Translations are notoriously tricky and Anne Carson's own complexity can complicate things further; the fact that these are fragments makes it all the more difficult. There is something certainly lovely about the fated quality of the surviving lines, and they felt appropriate for this fic.


End file.
